My substitute teacher had a heart attack last week
He was old, he was ignorant, and he reeked of impotence
He wore beige collared shirts and had his grey hair in a comb over
His skin was a blotchy red and his smile made me cringe
He never spoke about a wife or any kids
The nail on his thumb was worn down and a pale yellow
When he talked we made sure not to listen
Things he showed us went completely ignored
Sometimes we laughed at him and the mistakes he made

I wonder if he is dead
And if he’s not dead, I wonder if anyone went to see him
Maybe a sister or a brother or a friend
I wonder if he looks around a hospital room and wishes a loved one’s flowers were there
I wonder if he imagines a warm woman holding his hand
And saying she’s glad he’s still alive
I wonder if the nurses pity him the way that I did
The way that I do
Maybe they’ll write bad poetry about him too.